蔗尾蜂房

[傍晚在小港口]
--Chairil Anwar (1922-1949)，羅浩原 譯

獻給阿加提閣下

 

這次沒在此找到愛情

在倉庫、老房子之間，在故事裡

講得是桅杆加繩索。大船、小舟不出海

任風吹刮而自信纜繩能繫牢

細雨使天色提早變黑。還是有飛鷹垂翼

掠過昏暗，時日颼颼溜去

去會見碼頭誘人的未來願景。靜止了

此刻水與土沉睡了，波浪平息了。

再沒有了。我孑然一身。漫步

沿著岬角，仍舊窒悶無望

這次走到盡頭道別一切

此處海岸四合，終於可以擁抱傷心了。

1946


[Sendja Di Pelabuhan Ketjil]
--Chairil Anwar

Buat Sri Ajati

Ini kali tidak ada jang mentjari tjinta
diantara gudang, rumah tua, pada tjerita
tiang serta temali. Kapal, perahu tidak berlaut
menghembus diri dalam mempertjaja mau berpaut

Gerimis mempertjepat kelam. Ada djuga kelepak elang
menjinggung muram, desir hari lari berenang
menemu budjuk pangkal akanan. Tidak bergerak
dan kini tanah dan air tidur hilang ombak.

Tiada lagi. Aku sendiri. Berdjalan
menjisir semenandjung, masih pengap harap
sekali tiba diudjung dan sekalian selamat djalan
dari pantai keempat, sedu penghabisan bias terdekap.



[Twilight at a Little Harbor]
--translated by Burton Raffel

For Sri Ajati

This time no one's looking for love
Between the sheds, the old houses, in the twitter
Of poles and rigging. A boat, a prau forever out of water
Puffs and snorts, thinking there’s something it can catch hold of

The drizzle brings down darkness. There's an eagle flapping;
With a flick, the day brushes at the gloom, then swims silkily
To meet temptations yet to come. Nothing moves.
And now the sand and the sea are asleep, the waves are gone.

That's all. I'm alone. Walking,
Combing the cape, still drowning the hope
Of getting to the end of it and just once saying goodbye to everything
From the fourth beach, embracing the last, the final sob of all.


．Burton Raffel, ed. & trans., The Complete Poetry and Prose of Chairil Anwar, Albany : State University of New York Press, 1970, pp. 104-105.


[Twilight at a Little Harbour]
--translated by Boen Sri Oemarjati

For Sri Ajati

This time there's no one looking for love
among the sheds, old houses, near the tale
of the masts and riggings. Ships (and) boats (that) have not gone to sea
are puffing themselves (out) in the belief (they) will be united

The drizzle speeds the darkness. There is still the flapping of an eagle
flicking the gloom, the rustling (of the) day glides away
to meet the lures of a future harbour. Motionless
and now the land and water are asleep, the waves vanished.

Nothing is left. I'm alone. Walking
(I) comb the peninsula, still with a stifled hope
of some time reaching the tip (of the peninsula) and (saying) goodbye to everyone
from all four beaches, the last sob can be embraced (by me).


．Boen Sri Oemarjati, Chairil Anwar: The Poet and His Language, Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde. 63, The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff, 1972, p.87.